I Don't Want To Go
by MostTulip
Summary: I'm sad and I wrote this to express my emotions. "The sword seemed to take forever to reach his chest. In that time, so many memories filled his mind, he was surprised that so little time had passed."


**Reading too much fanfiction in which my favorite characters die (mostly Red Wedding related) and having watched "the Rains of Castamere" and watching "Journey's End" episode of Doctor Who has done this to me. I hope this drives a knife in your heart because I'm sad and I need others to feel my pain *evil laugh* And if not, then I'm greatly disappointed.**

* * *

There was death and blood everywhere. The screams of his men fit perfectly with the banging drums. Why were they screaming? The crossbow bolts in his body hurt and he wanted to pull them out but that would only make things worse. He was aware that he was on the ground, his own blood started to pool around him. He didn't want to move, just wanted to lay there and go to sleep, let the darkness envelop him. But there was something that kept stopping him. He had to do _something. _What was it?

Then there came a single word to his mind, the one that brought him back. _Mother._

He had to get up, he _had to _because Mother needed him and he couldn't let her die. No, not when so many others had been lost. She was almost all the family he had left.

One hand braced on the ground next to his face and with the almost completely depleted reserves of strength he had, he pushed himself to his knees. He was facing the highest table, though he had trouble trying to understand just what was happening.

Suddenly, he realized that the screaming and the shouts had pretty much stopped, and the music too, except for one drum. _Boom, boom. _There were voices, and one was upraised, but it wasn't the same as the shrieks of agony that had only been ringing through the hall moments before. The voice - the one that was upraised - was obviously his mother's.

The words being exchanged between his mother and the man . . . Walder Frey, were garbled and unclear. His ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The sounds were there, but he had no clarity. His mother was holding a knife to the throat of someone he didn't know. This surprised him. He'd never seen his mother truly hurt anyone, much less kill someone.

It was as if someone had just pulled something out of his ears, because he could hear everything with such clarity it almost hurt. Lord Walder was speaking now and his voice was laced with mistrust. "D'you take me for a fool, my lady?"

His mother started to talk again, and he took some small comfort from his mother's voice because he realized that he was _afraid. _"I take you for a father. Keep me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go."

The impact of his mother's words came to him barely a second later, and he found himself saying (it was really more of a whisper), "No. Mother, no . . ." He couldn't lose his mother, not when so many others had been lost.

"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, _please. _Save yourself . . . if not for me, for Jeyne." A face rose up in front of him. A beautiful face - heart-shaped and with chestnut curls and eyes filled with love - that had him feeling such pain and longing. Jeyne, Jeyne Westerling, his wife, his lovely, sweet wife.

"Jeyne?" He grabbed a nearby table, using what little strength that remained to him to get to his feet. "Mother, Grey Wind . . ." He couldn't feel his direwolf. It was like a piece of him was missing. Where was Grey Wind? Why was he gone?

"Go to him. Now. Robb, _walk out of here._" His mother didn't understand. He wanted to say _no, he's not here, he's gone. _But he couldn't find his voice or the words to say it and Lord Walder was talking to his mother.

"And why would I let him do that?" His mother pressed her knife deeper into the person's throat. There were two men circling her, and he feared that they would try to hurt her. If he were strong enough, he would have drawn his sword and fought them off like he did all other foes. Except he was finding it difficult just to stay awake. He couldn't even draw a sword if he wanted to.

"On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark, I will trade your boy's life for Robb's. A son for a son." And oh, how he wanted to tell her that it wouldn't work. That nothing she could do would save them. Lord Walder's next words proved him right.

"A son for a son, _heh. _But that's a grandson . . . and he never was much use."

A man stepped up before him, sword outstretched. He knew this man. This was Lord Bolton, one of his men. Why was Lord Bolton holding a sword before him?

"Jaime Lannister sends his regards." And he understood now.

The sword seemed to take forever to reach his chest. In that time, so many memories filled his mind, he was surprised that so little time had passed. It felt like _hours._

First was his father, standing in front of a deserter, Ice in his hands, head bowed and muttering the words he always spoke before executing someone. _" . . . I, Eddard of the House Stark, do sentence you . . ." _He could see his father smiling down at him, love and affection and pride all evident in his eyes, and he could feel his chest fill with happiness at being the one those emotions were directed at. His father should be at Winterfell, ruling as lord instead of him.

Next came his mother, holding him to her as she comforted him. She was singing softly, making hushing noises whenever he whimpered. She smiled then, hand coming to wipe tears from his cheeks. "_Shh, my sweet little boy. Nothing's going to hurt you now." _She watched him from a balcony, watching as he defeated some opponent with his wooden sword. His mother should be with his siblings, reading them a story or singing to them like she had him.

He saw his brother, Jon, as he was the last time they had spoken. There were snowflakes melting in his hair and he was already dressed in black, as if he had already taken the vows of the Night's Watch. His brother gazed at him with love and fondness and sadness, both of them knowing they wouldn't see each other for a long time. "_And you, Stark." _Jon should be by his side, should be there fighting with him, his brother in blood, bastard or not.

Sansa was the fourth one he saw, her giggling wildly as he saved her from the monster that had taken her away. He was her prince, coming to rescue her from all evils. "_I will marry and become Queen of all the Seven Kingdoms._" She was grinning, excited that she would be marrying a prince from her dreams, but hugging him equally hard and with as much sadness as he, because she was leaving home for the first time in her life. She should be married to a lord that will love her and care for her.

He could picture Arya clear as day. She was laughing as she chased him on little toddler legs, stumbling occasionally but always getting back up. "_I don't want to be a lady." _She was in breeches and held a stick like a sword, looking more like a boy even with her long hair. She should be home, training with swords even if their mother didn't want her to.

He could see Bran climbing one of the many towers of Winterfell, going to whatever place it was that he loved up there. Even as a small child, he was a better climber than most of them. "_I will be the greatest Kingsguard to ever live." _He saw his brother shooting an arrow, not quite hitting the target but getting better everyday. His brother should be squiring for someone like the Blackfish, training to become the best knight in all of Westeros.

Little Rickon, who had barely seen three name-days, was trying to keep up with his older siblings, trying to be big and grown up. "_You're leaving me, just like Mother." _His little brother, who would chase Shaggydog around the godswood, enjoying the world with an innocence only a child could know. He should be playing with his direwolf and listening to their mother tell stories about knights and dragons.

Jeyne - gods, Jeyne - his wife that he didn't want to let go of ever. He wanted her and needed her and loved her, and she was beautiful and lovely and so desirable. "_I love you, Robb." _She should be up North with him, cradling their son in her arms as they kissed one another._  
_

And as the sword entered his chest, pierced his heart, sent a fiery pain spreading through his body - as he felt himself fading away - only one thought remained in his mind:

_I don't want to go._


End file.
